An Empty World
by Love and Rock Music
Summary: He is frustrated, defeated, and lost. A short oneshot written for the interim between LWW and Prince Caspian.


**A/N:** This is a little oneshot focused around Peter, displaying my new fascination with the "artful" present tense. It takes place in the interim period between The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and Prince Caspian, so consider this my contribution for the upcoming film. This is about as close as I'll ever get to movieverse fandom.

**Disclaimer:** Peter Pevensie, Narnia, and other associated characters and locations of The Chronicles of Narnia are the property of C. S. Lewis Pte. Limited, and are used here for mere enjoyment and no profit.

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He comes here sometimes, if he can find the time and the weather is nice.

He likes it here. It may be less of a forest and more of a park, albeit an unkempt run-down one, but it's close enough and he'll take what he can get. The war has done much worse to London, and this is rather nice, really. Everything is overgrown. The trees grow in whichever direction they choose and the grass is about a foot deep. It's quiet, empty – the perfect place to think. To remember.

Peter sits at the foot of a tree and allows the memories to wash over him. Fields, flowers, rolling green hills, and trees that could keep you company. A sky blue as Lucy's eyes, and ice-mountains even bluer. He glances heavenward and sees only grey. _So very unlike here. _And of course, the people themselves – his beloved citizens, friends, even his enemies. He would gladly meet the most fearsome foe in battle, if only it meant returning.

He leans back and rests his head against the tree trunk.

It is here where he can let all his shields down, and be himself. He goes about every day with this second life – first life, really – deep inside him. He must mind what he says and does, and take the greatest care to hide his past – future? It would not do to tell another soul, for one would be thought mad. . . and even around his brother and sisters he must watch his words. He is their leader, by rank and by right. Their source of hope. No, he cannot sound disheartened in front of them, but ever hopeful, strong. Even if he does not feel so.

Here, alone, is the only place where Peter can finally feel his grief.

He can mourn his country, his purpose, and himself. His other self. The person he had been, and the man will become again.

He is frustrated, defeated, and lost. Displaced. What is there to do now? After all that he has been, and done, and seen, what is left for him here, where he is nothing and no one? His fingers ache to curl around a sword-hilt. He recalls the world as it was from atop a speeding mount, flying past in a blur of excitement and adventure; he was riding into danger, but his happy heart couldn't be more secure.

It's almost funny, because there is some measure of irony in these little visits. In Narnia, if he and Edmund sought a moment alone, it was to relax. They could lounge about and slump their shoulders, taking brief release from the proper posture and demeanour expected of kings. For a moment, they rested from the weight of their station. . . and minutes later, resumed their roles most willingly.

Now, Narnia has been reduced to a bright ball of happiness he must hold inside him, and proper posture and demeanour have become habits to be repressed. He hunches shoulders that are ready to spring straight and upright. He walks with his head down, in clear defiance of his own honour. It is when he comes here that the compression is released, and his body lifts high and noble; he closes his eyes, and is High King Peter once more.

Many minutes he sits there, still as a rabbit, remembering. Everything is so vivid that he feels he can reach into the world within his mind, but all is just ahead of his touch. He sees beloved faces smiling and the sound of his sisters' laughter rings in his ears. There is music and wine and splendour, and a happiness beyond description – waiting just past his fingertips.

A cool breeze blows. It seems to sigh, _Where has it all gone?_ to the colourless sky overhead. Peter is afraid to admit the answer in his heart: He doesn't know. They can only believe, and hope to return. Someday.

_Once, always,_ whispers the wind. It ruffles the top of his head, and he brushes hair away from his eyes; there is no golden crown to hold it in place. His skin tingles, yearning for the warmth and light of his true homeland.

A breath, deep and calming, and Peter pulls himself to his feet. He leaves the place without a backward glance. It is his, undoubtedly, where he goes to ease the pain and relish in memory. But this park that's almost a forest holds no affection in his heart. It's empty, and friendless, and the trees are all the same sort. And it's nothing like the real thing anyway.

* * *

**A/N:** This song was inspired entirely by Lisbeth Scott's "Where" off the soundtrack of the first movie.


End file.
